


Recovery

by ACB1



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-07 15:05:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3176580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ACB1/pseuds/ACB1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A devastating explosion leaves Red presumed dead and Liz's life unrecognizable. Now, three years later, truths begin to reveal themselves, and she must accept that all is not what it seemed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything, much less The Blacklist.

Her heart punched at her chest and reverberated in her ears. Someone had just come in the front door. The shift in the air was subtle, but it was there. She knew it wasn’t a window or the backdoor, all had accompanying ticks that would have alerted her to their being breeched. No, it was the front door. The intruder was very quiet; she couldn’t hear anything over the steadily quickening drum beat in her breast. Her other senses were keen, though, and the one thought she had -- and, she knew it was ridiculous one to have at this time, when, maybe, someone was about to rob her or rape her or kidnap her, was ‘Could it be him?’ When there was no possibility it was him, when that possibility had long ago ceased to be. 

She continued to lie there in her bed in the near pitch darkness. She felt paralyzed. All of her years of training had prepared her for this sort of event. Indeed, she had handled many like it. She was not ill-equipped for the task of overtaking a home invader. She had a weapon handy for just such an occasion. The reality of it was overwhelming, however. To be awoken out of a dream, where her world was full, where happiness and love were bursting its seams and she was mid-giggle, was jarring and disorienting. To realize what had awoken her had goosebumps covering her exposed skin and her heart beat ever increasing. She focused on her breathing and listened as best she could. She did not hear footsteps. The old floor boards were not announcing her visitor. One would have to know just where to step to avoid their whining. So, maybe she was wrong, maybe this had been part of her dream – the opening of the door was in her imagination, as were so many sights, sounds and smells these days. 

She began to calm and took a deep breath. She watched the white blanket upon her chest raise and lower with her effort. She closed her eyes and swallowed. It wasn’t him. It would never be him. She licked her lips and turned on her side facing the bedroom door. Her gun was on her nightstand. She reached for it and palmed the cool metal, placing it beside her on the mattress. She continued to listen. Nothing. And, nothing. 

She began to get sleepy again. And, her eyes drifted closed. But, she shook herself awake, afraid to succumb despite the ongoing silence. She should have gotten up to check the house, but somehow that seemed a more dangerous path than to lie in wait for her intruder. She sighed, the intruder that did not exist, in all likelihood. Finally, sleep claimed her despite her planned vigilance, the silence proving too enduring. 

When she awoke the next morning, the gun under her fingers, she shook her head. Her safety and the imagined noise should have been a relief, but instead she felt lonely and sad. The events of the night were all jumbled in her mind still, and she was rattled and unfocused. A shower would help, she thought, so she stripped off her camisole and underwear and walked to the master bathroom. The hot water soothed her mind and relaxed her body. She thought about the day ahead, and the holiday looming. This was not the time to begin to go down the rabbit hole that had claimed her for the past three years as the holidays approached. No, not this year. She was making a conscious effort to remain upbeat, and she would not let one night’s dream thwart her hard work. She would work and celebrate Thanksgiving with her neighbors and Christmas with her father’s sister and her family in Nebraska. She had planned her schedule early, so she would have things to look forward to as the events approached. She would not be alone this year. That was something her therapist had, in her quiet way, insisted upon, and like the good student that she was, Liz had followed Mona’s recommendation. Being alone had wreaked havoc on her for the past three years, and this year she was prepared to listen. 

She dressed quickly, realizing she was running behind thanks to her long shower. It had been worth it, though; she was feeling less foggy. She walked into the kitchen with her head down as she buttoned her blouse, the smell of her coffee pulling her forward by rote; she loved that it was always waiting for her, the timer set to be her morning companion. When she lifted her head from her shirt, arm readying to reach for a mug, she gasped. 

A manila envelope sat next to her coffee pot. It had not been there last night. She was sure of that. She had prepared her next day’s coffee as usual and set the timer. There had been no envelope. Her heart started pounding again, and her skin prickled. Someone had been there. It had not been a dream after all. But, who was it and why? Why now? Her life had become mundane over the last three years. No one had reached out to her in all that time; there was no longer a reason to. She had become unimportant. 

Her hand shook as she reached for the envelope. Then, she thought better of touching it and reached into a kitchen drawer for cleaning gloves. She had trouble getting them on; her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Once she had them on well enough, she grabbed the brown package. There was no writing anywhere on it. It had not been through the mail nor did it appear to be well worn; it was a new, crisp envelope. She took a deep breath and pinched the metal clasps together, slipping them through the small hole. She feared what was inside, feared it like she had not feared anything in three years, because somehow she knew this was important, and she questioned her ability to deal with what she would find. 

With trepidation she reached inside and pulled out a thin stack of photographs. She peered inside to make sure she had gotten all of the envelopes contents, and then she turned the prints over in her hand, so she could begin to sort through them. On top was a photo of an older woman, maybe in her early 70s. She looked harmless but unfamiliar. In the second photo the same woman was pushing a baby carriage. In the third, she had the baby in her arms, a dark-haired little boy of maybe eight months old. They looked to be in a park and were seated on a bench. The fourth photo was of a little boy who appeared to be nearly three years old, likely the same child as in the other photo. He was staring at the camera with a serious expression and an unmistakable tilt to his head. His hair was a thick, dark brown, and his eyes were hazel. His chin and his nose were already distinguished and telling. He looked so familiar. 

My God, my God, my God. Her hand went to her mouth, and the sob that escaped her seemed far away to her ears. How could this be? Her baby had died. That is what she was told. That is what she spent months investigating, because she didn’t believe them. How could this be real? Where was he? And, who was the woman? Everything in her seized up, and her only thought was to get to him. Her need was so palpable; the need to touch him, to sink her nose into his hair and breathe him in; to grasp him to her and never let him go. She knew him; this was her baby. She knew this immediately; her instincts were not failing her. The need to scream and run, she knew not where, was overwhelming. She needed to find him. 

Someone had been in her house and left this for her. Why? And, who was it? She had no one to call who could give her answers anymore. She slid down the wall until she was seated on the floor, her legs unable to support her any longer. She traced the outline of the boy’s face. For so long she had wanted to believe he was alive. She hoped for it, prayed for it, begged for it. It took seven months in a psychiatric facility chosen by the FBI to help her face her new reality. Red was dead. Her baby was dead. Dembe was gone and likely dead. Mr. Kaplan had disappeared. And, she was alone. Alone in a way she had never felt before. She was devastated and unable to accept that the baby she had carried for a little more than eight months was gone, and that Red was, too. Of all the things they had survived together, it would end like this, in the worst possible way. She had been despondent, broken so utterly that she knew it was only a matter of time before those around her gave up on her, and that was fine. She welcomed their disinterest, because she was without hope of recovery. She stayed that way for months. 

Over time, one persistent therapist finally broke through to her. Mona had challenged her and consistently shown up, no matter how angry or cruel or unresponsive Liz had been the session before. Over time, very slowly, she began to recover. She began to shower regularly, to eat without being forced to do so, to speak without prompting on occasion and to reengage with the world around her. Eventually, she was allowed to work again. The task force was not active in the same way it was before, but the group had stayed together, solving tough cases that others had given up on. She was rarely in danger these days, not like she had been before. She mainly stayed hunkered down at the black site, researching, profiling, analyzing and assessing, trying to find answers where others could not – something she couldn’t seem to do in her own life. 

Her existence was singular. She rarely went out. She did not socialize unless forced to by Ressler or Aram, and sometimes Cooper. She stayed in the house she bought after everything with Tom was, to some degree, resolved, the same house that had a nursery prepared for a baby that would never arrive. She had learned to love Red in this house, and for that reason, she didn’t leave after it all came crashing down. She accepted the nosy neighbor next door who insisted on inviting her to dinner at least once a month. She would say, yes, every now and again, as she did for Thanksgiving, mainly to keep herself from becoming a recluse; it was a conscious decision, because everything in her wanted to be alone. 

But now, she was staring into her baby’s face. He was alive. And, she was going to find him. She didn’t know how yet and wouldn’t let herself delve into the possibility that someone was toying with her. She felt this was real, that he was real. But, why someone was alerting her to his existence now, she did not know. After three years, after she had missed three years of his life, why now? She didn’t think her legs would carry her at this point. She needed help.

The ringing of her phone in her back pocket startled her. She pulled it out from under her and stared at it for a long moment. She didn’t recognize the number. She was so far into her own memory brought on by the picture she held tightly in her hand that the phone seemed an almost alien object. Not sure she could even speak, she gently swiped her finger across the screen with one hand and held it to her ear. She said nothing. The line was silent for a moment. 

“Keen? Are you there?” It was Ressler, and even through Liz’s haze, she knew something was wrong. 

Her first attempt to speak failed, and she cleared her throat. “Yes,” she said weakly. 

“You need to get here. Now,” he demanded. “Are you hearing me?” her lack of response prompted him to ask. 

“Yes.”

“Now, Keen.” And, he hung up. 

She continued to sit on the floor for several minutes, unable to move and unwilling to think beyond this glossy revelation still clutched in her hand. She believed she was experiencing some level of shock, and it was paralyzing her body while her mind roamed free. Not even Ressler’s urgency motivated her, when normally she would have moved at a hyper speed at the sound of his nearly panicked tone. She had so many questions, and she needed to be able to think clearly. She needed to be able to find her son, and then she could tackle the other questions.


	2. Coming to Terms

Now she knew her lack of acceptance of her son’s death at birth was legitimate. She did not, could not believe the stress of the massacre that took Red and, maybe, Dembe had caused her to lose the baby. There had been an awful explosion, and she had been knocked down and rendered unconscious. She had followed Red and Dembe to an airstrip after Red had expressly told her to stay home, that this was no place for her. He would be safe, he said. There was no need to worry. But, he was meeting a contact about the whereabouts of one of his top ten blacklisters, known as the Pilot, for his ability to swoop in quietly in his own undetected aircraft, direct a multitude of nefarious acts and leave the way he came. The Pilot was causing a lot of trouble in the Middle East, double crossing top players, creating tension that Red was having trouble tamping down. Red and his associates agreed it was time to get rid of the Pilot one way or another. 

Through channels, Dembe had learned the Pilot would be in D.C. conducting some of his legitimate business. Red planned to meet one of his contacts at the airstrip where the Pilot housed one of his planes. Red did not expect trouble, but Liz, maybe due to her heightened maternal instinct and current emotional state, felt something was off. She begged Red not to go. He had been tying up loose ends in his business, planning to stop his criminal activities all together in time for the baby. The Pilot was proving one major loose end, and this was the perfect opportunity to stop him. His contact would carry out the deed, not Red, so, again, he told Liz to relax and enjoy her Friday night. He wouldn’t be late, and they could enjoy a late supper. 

The minute Dembe pulled out of the driveway, she followed them. At a safe distance, she tracked their route. Her plan was to stay out of sight, to be back up, if that became necessary. She was indulging herself, assuaging her fears, hopeful all would be well, as Red predicted. She also hoped Red would not see her; finding out she followed him would make him very angry on several levels. She had every intention of staying out of sight. 

As the airstrip was out of the way, it was hard to follow them safely in her car. Liz was sure to be found out, so she found a back entrance to the airfield and took an early turn. It allowed her to park a safe distance away in a discreet parking lot. With her gun at her waist, she made her way on foot to the hangar where she saw Red’s car. Crouching down near the building’s entrance, something that was not easy to do when one was eight months’ pregnant, Liz was able to hear their voices – Red and another man. The conversation seemed easy and calm. Then, something happened; another voice, then yelling. It seemed Red’s source had double crossed him, and contacted the Pilot, cluing him in on the plan to get him out of the picture. 

When she heard the first gunshot, she, instinctively, made the decision to go in. When she did she saw Red near the plane in the hangar, Dembe off to the side and two other men near them and more behind them. Red was outnumbered. Then, she saw him get shot in the chest. He went down slowly, and she ran to him, without thought, without any instinct for self-preservation. Shots were still ringing, and then there was a deafening explosion, and then nothing. 

She woke up alone in a hospital room nearly two week later, disoriented at first. Her head hurt, her throat was dry and the dim light in the room was too much for her sensitive eyes. She had to work to open her eyes and then to keep them open. As she became more aware, she felt down to her stomach, and then she started screaming. 

They told her the baby was stillborn, that it was likely the trauma she had experienced that caused her early labor and its outcome. Did she remember the explosion, they asked? A small airplane, hit with stray bullets, had exploded inside of an air hangar on the outskirts of town. She was found there alone. Why had she been there, they asked? Someone had called 911, but no name was given, the caller was unknown. She had no identification when she was brought in, so for two days, she was a Jane Doe. It was her FBI colleagues who eventually began searching for a missing agent and found her there. They contacted her family members in Nebraska and stood guard, watching over her during her coma. 

She would have to give a statement to police when she was ready. There had been blood at the scene other than hers. She had been knocked unconscious by the explosion, had abrasions on her face and arms, had been cut on her right leg by a piece of debris, requiring twelve stitches. She had second-degree burns on her lower left leg. It had not been expected she would make it, however, despite her rather superficial wounds, they explained, because of the trauma of the birth, which led to much blood loss. When she did not wake, the baby had been taken and eventually cremated. His ashes were there for her, when she was ready for them. It had been a boy. 

She did not immediately ask for Red, not wanting to compromise him. She waited for that evening when Cooper came to visit. He was visibly relieved that she was awake, and smiled softly at her as he sat in the chair next to her bed. She did not allow him to get comfortable. “Where is Red?” Her voice was scratchy, and her eyes were wild.

“Agent Keen,” he started, sympathetically.

“No. Please, just tell me. Tell me. Tell me I have not lost everything. Tell me what happened. Where is he?” she pleaded, barely maintaining any sense of composure and rationality.

“We don’t know,” he began quietly. “We didn’t know where you were for two days, almost three. We were called once your identity had been determined by the hospital personnel. Ressler and Agent Navabi went to the hangar immediately, but nearly three days had passed. There was a lot of blood there, a lot of it Red’s. We were able to work with the local police; they gave us access to what they found during the initial investigation. We determined he had been shot,” he paused, “likely fatally. There were no bodies there. Other blood has been collected. Bullets, too. The explosion made a mess of things. It was hard to recreate the scene, and there was debris from the aircraft and the surrounding equipment and everything else in the hangar. We suspect whoever was responsible for calling 911 for you, also cleared the scene of bodies.” He took a breath and looked at her carefully. “It is amazing you survived, Agent Keen. We are very grateful for that, even as we mourn the losses.”

He was careful to not mention the baby. The baby he knew was Reddington’s, though she had never admitted that to anyone. She had maintained her professional relationship with Red, and kept her private life private. She knew the team wondered who the father of her baby was, she figured they all guessed the baby was Red’s, but her hope was that once the baby was born, the blacklist would be nearly done, and his immunity deal would stick, and it would all work itself out. Once she had learned of the pregnancy, she had decided not to tell anyone for as long as she could, so she could figure out a plan of how to move forward. The truth was, though, that there was no easy solution. She loved Red; she was determined not to give him up for any reason. She also knew he loved her. However, he was more reluctant to allow her to give up anything for him. He did not want her at risk or compromised in any way. 

It had been relatively easy when it was just the two of them, but her pregnancy had complicated things. She was scared – scared to tell him, scared of how he would react, scared of what this meant for her career, scared of what this meant for him and his relationship with the FBI, and scared of the big unknown future of them looming in front of her. But, she was also overwhelming happy about the little life inside of her. With Tom, she did not even consider getting pregnant; it had always been adoption – that was their plan. With Red, she did not think about children in any real way. She knew that was something that would not be in the cards for her if she stayed with Red. And, she was okay with that, if she had him, safe and sound, with her, she would be fine. 

Seeing the positive pregnancy test had been bittersweet. Red had been away for three weeks. She missed him terribly, but the agreement was they would maintain a “business as usual” situation. They would continue their work on the blacklist, and they would see each other outside of work when they could. They took every opportunity to do that. It was wonderful, and they were slowly coming to depend on one another, emotionally, intellectually and physically. She never questioned her feelings or her devotion to him. But, when he felt himself sliding too close to the abyss, a place of no return for him, but also for her, he would back away a little bit. Hence, the long work trip. He was “seeing to his business, keeping up appearances,” but she knew he was scared of their growing dependence on one another, of losing his perspective, of endangering her, of pulling her fully into the life he was currently trying to fight his way out of. He continually told her that his number one goal would always be to maintain her safety. Everything else was secondary. 

So, finding out she was pregnant had made her fearful as well as happy. And, when he returned a week later, she held off telling him immediately. She selfishly wanted him to herself for a little while longer. And, their reunion had been blissful, romantic, erotic, dizzying. She had missed him in every way and felt desperate for him. She wanted to be near him, touch him, listen to him, smell him, and he had laughed at and reveled in her overly affectionate demeanor. “Sweetheart, what had gotten into you?” he had asked, his voice like gravel around his chuckle, as she moved to sit in his lap and run her hand again and again over his head. “I’ve missed you,” she said, kissing the side of his neck, then his throat over his Adam’s apple, then his chin, making her way to his lips. “Very much,” as she pressed her lips over his. 

They continued in that vein for two days, until Sunday night when she vomited, many times. She fell into bed after each bout of sickness, moaning but feeling momentarily relieved. She knew what was happening, but he didn’t, and his concern for her well-being was growing – was it something she ate? Who had she been around? Maybe it was the flu or a stomach virus? Should he consult his physician? She finally reached for his arm across the bed and held it tightly. “No, Red. It’s not any of those things. I don’t need a doctor. I know what’s wrong.”

He was lying on his side facing her on the bed. She was lying on her back, breathing deeply and slowly with her hand clasped to his left forearm, as she stared at the ceiling. His other arm supported his head. He looked at her, with brow creased and lips pursed, concern radiating from his eyes. “What’s wrong, Lizzie?” he said quietly, full of trepidation. She turned her head to him then. He looked almost as sick as she felt. He was fearing the worst, something awful, she could see it. She squeezed his arm tighter and smiled. 

“I am going to have a baby. Well, we. We are going to have a baby,” she stayed still, worried that moving would make her rush to the bathroom again, but she tried to convey with her eyes that all was well with her, physically at least. His silence made her question her wellness otherwise. She concentrated on his eyes, because they always told her what she needed to know, and right now they were confusing her. His fear turned to confusion to disbelief to something she could not identify. And, she closed her eyes against what she worried was coming. Then, she felt his arm lift, the one she held onto. As her arm slipped back to the bed, he raised his arm and traced her face with his fingertips. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he said in a new tone that was as yet unrecognized and undefined by her brain.

When she did, she saw he had lifted himself above her, and as he peered down at her, she saw wonder and relief and, maybe for the first time, true happiness. “You have been busy while I was away.”

“Um, I think I was busy before you left, Red,” she said, with hesitance.

He chuckled, “Of course. But, I meant that you found out this news and processed it and you never told me, my dear. Why not?”

She searched his eyes, but there was no a hint of anger or resentment, just curiosity. Her answer was honest: “I was afraid. I wasn’t sure what you would think about this. I also didn’t want to tell you over the phone. I needed to see you when you found out."

He pushed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her there. Then he pulled back a little to look into her eyes. “Lizzie, you overwhelm me. You always have. And, this is no exception. I am overwhelmed,” he shook his head in awe. “I know I should have, but I never considered this possibility. But, I am happy, so very happy. But, are you, Lizzie? Are you happy about this?”

He kissed her face again and again, peppering her with affection, after he asked and smiled so very big that her heart swelled, and her eyes filled with tears, “I am. I am happy. But, I have kept this to myself for over a week, and it has been hard not knowing when you were coming back and how you would feel.”

He wiped her eyes and grinned. “Well, now you know. I am here, and I am with you in everything. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she smiled through her tears. 

Then they talked about the pregnancy, how far along she likely was, when and where the baby was conceived, who the doctor should be and things parents talk about. But, that night no talk was focused on work and what the pregnancy would mean in regards to that. That ongoing conversation started later.

In the hospital, when Cooper was explaining to her what happened during the time she had lost -- the explosion, the investigation, her coma -- all she could think was this was not her life. Her life was talking to Red about their baby, decorating a nursery, working a full day putting away criminals, loving Red at night. It was all of that and the promise of more. It was right in front of her, so close she just had to lift her hand to graze it. But, Copper kept talking, and his words were hurting her ears. When he tugged at her hand and gently told her he was going to find the nurse, that it was time for her evening pain medication, she raised her head to look at him with glazed eyes, her tone vicious and her voice escalating with every sentence: “I don’t want any medication or any nurse. I want to see the doctor who delivered my baby. Do you hear me? I want to see the goddamn doctor who delivered my baby right the hell now! I want answers! Because, I don’t believe a damn thing anybody here has told me. Where is my doctor? Everyone is lying to me, and I want to know why. I need to know why right now!” She pitched forward in an effort to get out of the bed. She was too weak to move quickly or easily. Cooper held onto her arm, alarmed, “Agent Keen, please, calm down.”

“I am not going to stay here. I am going to find my baby and Red! Someone knows the truth of what happened here, and I am going to find out what it is!” she struggled against his gentle hold on her. 

Her yelling brought two orderlies and a nurse, who promptly sedated her. Later, the hospital psychiatrist explained to Liz that what she was experiencing was normal, that she would go through the various stages of dealing with death before arriving at acceptance. She told that doctor to fuck off. Her volatility, refusal to face reality and continued refusal of food, led to her commitment to a psychiatric hospital. 

As she sat on her kitchen floor trying to make her body move, Liz remembered all that had led her here. She had wanted to die in that psychiatric hospital, but there was always a small part of her that refused to give up hope. Until she had the proof in her hand that they were truly gone, she had to live. Now she had proof of something else. She had proof of life. She had to get up off the floor and find answers and her little boy. She grabbed hold of the countertop and pulled herself up. She gave herself a minute, and when she felt steady enough, she walked out the door.


	3. Proof of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who has read, commented and left kudos. This is a Lizzington story, ultimately. Because some things are taking time to develop, I wanted to stress that. So, I hope you will stick with the story. I have a plan! This should be about six chapters in total. Chapter 4 will be posted soon, and I hope to have the whole story completed by Feb. 1.

Chapter 3: Proof of Life

“Lizzie, instead of arguing about this, can we compromise? Can we agree that completing our work on the Blacklist, though important, must be secondary to the child?”

“Red, you are only starting off there, because you know I cannot disagree with that,” she said, throwing the towel she had been using to dry her hair onto the bed. He was either increasingly exasperating or she was more and more hormonal, but, either way, she was determined the conversation would not be led by him today. “I want to compromise with you, but instead, it always feels like settling. You are ready to abandon our work. Work you started, by the way. What about the team? What about all of the time and effort put in? The progress we have made?”

“Not abandon, Lizzie,” he said, as he rounded the bed to stand closer to her in hopes of placing his hands on her stomach and feeling the baby move. He had only felt the child once two days ago, but she was feeling the kicks consistently now, and he was feeling left out of the fun. “I would like to get us to a place where the work can go on without our direct involvement. In four months, or sooner really, you will be in no position to chase criminals. But, it is more than that. The danger this poses to you and this child is too great, and I cannot have it. What I propose is we spend the next few months taking down the top of the list, as best we can, and then we go away. Let Harold and the team take it from there.”

He touched her skin then, and his hands were warm on her slightly rounded belly. She stood patiently in her bra and panties, her hair damp and her face fresh from her morning shower. She had to get ready for work, but worry about the future plagued her, leading to conversations with no quick or easy conclusions. She was five months pregnant now, and time was short. She needed to decide, with him, the best course of action. He was not as concerned about the work, only about her safety and the baby’s safety. She understood that, was sympathetic to his past trauma with Carla and Jennifer, and she did not plan to allow a repeat performance. She wanted her job to be taken seriously, however, and she sometimes wondered if he wasn’t just humoring her, if he knew how it would all ultimately play out, and if she was really just arguing with herself. 

She spoke quietly then, as he moved his hands around her abdomen, slowly, pressing here and there. “I think he’s asleep,” she said. 

He picked his head up then, having been looking closely at her stomach, and stared at her: “Why did you say, ‘he,’?”

“Oh, no,” she shook her head at him and smiled. “I don’t really know. I’m just guessing. I think he’s a boy. I just have a feeling. But, I do still want to be surprised, like we talked about. Don’t you?”

He turned her around and walked her backwards until her knees hit the bed. Then, he artfully placed her atop the blankets on the still-unmade bed and moved on top of her. “I want whatever you want, sweetheart. But, a boy, huh? I like that idea. You could teach him to pick a lock and the art of the brush pass; I could teach him how to choose the right hat and how not to get swindled in business,” he said, as he began kissing a line down her neck to her chest. 

“All skills that will come in handy on the playground, I’m sure,” she retorted, lifting her neck, so he could have better access and pulling him down to settle between her legs. “You really are terrible, you know that? And, I know what you’re doing – ending our conversation. Another one I won’t win. And, I will be late for work.”

He reached around her with one hand and unhooked her bra. “There is no winner,” he said between kisses.

“I think there is.”

* * * *** ***

As the months progressed, Red did his best to hand the team as many top ten blacklisters as was possible. In large part he was successful, clearing a path for the future. Liz, no longer able to chase criminals, as predicted, was able to profile, interrogate and draw conclusions. In the latter half of her second trimester and much of her third, they put major criminals in prison, took down international organizations, killed when necessary, and, in Red’s case, sometimes when it wasn’t. It was a fruitful time, and accolades from on high flooded the group, all but ensuring Red’s future immunity deal, Liz thought. She began to relax and enjoy the baby’s impending birth. 

But, when there were only six weeks to go in her pregnancy, Liz began to suffer nightmares the likes of which she had not experienced since during and immediately following her time holding Tom prisoner on the “filthy” ship that had turned Red’s stomach. She had hated that time in her life, and her fear, disgust, lack of self-control and lack of self-esteem revealed themselves in vivid nightmares. She felt none of those things when the nightmares returned, and she was perplexed when she began waking up sweat-soaked with her heart hammering night after night. She tried to hide her terrible dreams from Red, but after only two nights, he figured it out. There was fire, torture and death in that world, but she didn’t voice the particulars – no matter how much he asked her to. She couldn’t say any of it out loud. So, Red would hold her, shush her and whisper soothing words of comfort until she fell back into the heavy, but uncomfortable sleep of the largely pregnant. 

Two weeks into the nightmares, Red brought up going to talk to an associate about taking care of the Pilot, and Liz came unglued. Believing her nightmares a foreshadowing of bad things, she asked him to please reconsider, she begged really. He didn’t listen. Even though he knew better than anyone that nightmares could come true, he didn’t believe her. She hated him for that; then, eventually, she hated herself.

For a long time she blamed herself for the events of that night; if only she would have somehow made Red stay home, then everything would have been fine. If only she would not have followed him, then the baby would have lived. Mona talked to Liz about these things a lot. In the beginning of her time in the hospital, Liz did not talk back. For a long time, she couldn’t talk back on that subject. 

Liz’s mind went in ever-expanding circles, like the rings on a tree, as she drove on autopilot to the blacksite. She knew something was wrong; Ressler sounded so strange on the phone, but she had been too distracted to fully analyze his tone. She pulled into the parking garage, and grabbed her manila envelope of photos off of the passenger seat. She had every intention of finding Aram immediately and asking for his help in finding her son. She trusted him implicitly. He had been there for her over the past three years, and become a true friend. With his help, she might have a chance of success. She would also be able to keep her search quiet until she knew more, then she would talk to Cooper.

On the elevator ride up to the office, she took calming breaths. She felt a cross between physically sick and immeasurably excited about what might be. The doors of the elevator opened, and there stood Ressler. He stopped mid-pace and met her eyes. He looked panicked and afraid. She stepped out and toward him. Before she could ask what was wrong, he gently took hold of her arm and steered her quickly in the direction of Cooper’s office. 

His quiet voice belied his frantic pace and energy: “Liz, there is someone here to see you, but before you talk to her, Cooper wants to meet with you. She was here when I got here this morning, and I talked to her, Liz, at length. You are going to need to listen to her very carefully and keep calm when you do, okay? Because, Liz,” and he stopped then, right outside of Cooper’s door and turned to her with a look of scared wonder on his face, “I believe her. You’ll see why soon.”

“You are scaring me, Ressler. What’s going on?” she asked.

He put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed, “Don’t be scared. Go in. I will be there in a minute with your visitor.” He turned away and walked in the direction of the interrogation rooms. 

Liz knocked on Cooper’s door with some hesitation, feeling the beginnings of a headache; she hadn’t had her coffee. After being ushered in by Cooper and told to sit, Liz was then presented with a series of questions. “Agent Keen, do you know a woman by the name of Margaret Cleary?”

“No.”

“Has anyone claiming to be Margaret Cleary or an associate of hers ever contacted you?"

“No.”

“Did you ever hear Reddington talk about someone, an associate of his, named Cleary?”

“No. What is this about?” Liz was getting angry now. 

“Did you have any reason to expect her presence here today?”

“No. Now, why are you asking me all of this? Margaret Cleary is the person here to see me, I assume? I don’t know her, and if Red did, he never mentioned her. I can’t imagine what she would want from me. But, if she claims to have known Red, I want to talk with her.”

“Before I allow you to speak to Mrs. Cleary, I need you to understand that I have questioned her extensively and so has Ressler. She was forthcoming to an extent, but she made it very clear that she was here to speak with you and certain answers would only be given to you. We gleaned as much as we could from her. She is in no database that we could find, a ghost. She just showed up here, Agent Keen, do you understand? At a blacksite? With information, that is incredible. But, she has evidence that leads me to think at least some of what she is saying is true, absolutely true,” he pulled his bottom lip into his mouth for a few seconds and contemplated her. He smiled gently at her after a moment. 

There was quick knock at the door, and Ressler stuck his head in, “Sir?”

Cooper nodded, “Yes, we are ready.”

Ressler opened the door wider and led in the woman known as Margaret Cleary. And, Liz immediately recognized her. She stood up then and backed up to Cooper’s desk, her surprise instinctively forcing her to create distance. “You are the woman in the pictures. The pictures from this morning. Someone left pictures at my house of you and a little boy. Do you have the little boy?” her voice broke on the last question. She was afraid to call him hers, afraid it wasn’t true. That no one would believe her even if it was. Then she realized she still held the envelope of photos in her hand. She opened it with shaking fingers and pulled out the pictures. She pushed them at the woman. “Do you know where I can find this little boy?” 

“Yes, I do,” the woman said, kindly, in an Irish brogue. “That is why I came, to bring him to you, my dear. If you will allow me, I would like to introduce you to your son.”

“Is … is he here?” she stammered, overcome with too many emotions to ask any other question. She looked from the woman to Ressler, who still stood behind her. He nodded slightly then, before walking out of the room. 

At first no one spoke in Ressler’s absence, but soon the woman did move away from the door to position herself next to Liz by Cooper’s desk. She stood close to Liz without touching her. Finally, she quietly spoke, “I will answer as many of your questions as I can, Elizabeth. But, for now, just know I speak the truth. This is your child, and he is wonderful. His name is Samuel, after your father. I hope that pleases you. I call him Sammy. And, he knows you, Elizabeth, and his father. He has been told of you since the beginning. But, he is shy, so it may take him a little while to get comfortable with you. He knows you work here, but I hesitated to tell him he would meet you. I did not want him disappointed if this didn’t turn out as I’d hoped. He is very smart and very playful; he is full of energy. He likes to play I Spy and to hop around like a rabbit. It gives him great pleasure to jump about the house all day. And, he has quite a palate, eats like a sophisticated adult. It is amazing.”

Liz could hardly take in the information, though she knew it would be important later. She could barely process anything beyond the simple fact that her son was alive, and he was here. Ressler finally appeared in the doorway, knocking for effect. “Knock, knock, we have a visitor,” he said. 

Holding Ressler’s hand was Sammy, the most beautiful sight Liz had ever laid eyes on. She didn’t breathe as she watched him let go of Ressler’s hand and approach Margaret Cleary, coming to stand in the folds of her skirt, all the while watching Liz. Quietly, Cooper and Ressler left the room and closed the door.

“Sammy,” Margaret said, picking up the small boy, resting him comfortably on her hip. “This is your mom. Can you say, ‘hello?’”

Sammy held Liz’s eyes as he laid his head on Margaret’s shoulder. After a minute, he lifted his little hand and touched Liz’s hair. “Hi, mommy,” he said, quietly.

“Hi, baby,” Liz said, laughing through her tears.


	4. Answers and Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liz learns the answers to many of her questions, including the most important one: Is Red alive?

Three years and one month after the birth of her son, Liz was finally taking her maternity leave. FBI-expedited DNA testing proved Sammy was the child of Elizabeth Keen and Raymond Reddington. The identity of the child’s father, which up to that point had been only heavily speculated to be Reddington, was confirmed. Her colleagues, who over the years had become close friends, cared little about the child’s paternity, as it was no real surprise, and more about his existence and the cover up of that fact – something that had led to their friend’s descent into madness, followed by a tireless search for answers that never came. How could this have happened? There was only one answer to that. Red had made it happen. They knew it, even if Liz didn’t yet. But, why and how?

The team would use its resources to investigate that while Liz was away. Meanwhile, Liz planned to use her own captive resource – Margaret Cleary. Sammy called her “Nanny,” and he obviously loved her, and she him. And, as the only parental figure he had ever known, Nanny would be staying with Liz and Sammy for a while – allowing Sammy to get acclimated to his mother and also allowing Liz the time to interrogate Margaret until she got every last answer the woman had to offer. The interrogation started on that first night. 

After leaving the blacksite on the morning of Sammy’s arrival, the three returned to Liz’s house. At that point, Liz still had no answers, but she was determined not to ask questions in front of her child, but, instead, to be patient and focus her energies on him. She took his things to his bedroom, the nursery she had decorated so happily several years before. It was unchanged, a place she would alternately visit compulsively and ignore for long stretches. She held his hand as the two of them moved into the room. She placed his backpack on the floor by the rocking chair. It was the first time the two of them had been alone together. 

He let go of Liz’s hand and walked around the room curiously, checking out the stuffed animals and the books, the baby rattles and the blocks. He would pick things up and politely put them back down. He finally stopped in front of the crib, staring at it a moment before turning to her and tilting his head in a way so reminiscent of his father that her heart stopped momentarily at the sight. Then, in a little voice, he asked, “Do you have another baby?” 

She was confused at first, then realized his young mind’s direction. He sounded so worried and lost when he had, in truth, just been found, so she got down on her knees in front of him. She cradled his small face in her hands, caressing him in a way she hadn’t gotten to do earlier. She moved her hands over his hair, leaned in close and breathed him in. 

“No, you are my only baby. That crib was for you, but now that you are a big boy, you can use this bed.” She pointed to the twin bed on the opposite side of the room. “Is that okay?”

“Okay,” he said, smiled shyly at her. She put her arms around him then and pulled him to her, putting her face in his hair and rubbing her hand up and down his back. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around her, too. She picked him up and carried him to the rocking chair, sat him on her lap and talked with him until he fell asleep with his head on her chest. 

After tucking Sammy into his new bed, Liz went and found Margaret to begin the first of many conversations. Every time Sammy slept, Liz asked questions, and by the end of the first week, she had gleaned what she could from the woman. 

Long ago John Cleary, Margaret’s late husband, came to know Red. John was a high-ranking military officer in the Irish Army when Red worked in U.S. Naval Intelligence. Their close friendship endured despite Red’s break with the military, or, maybe, because of it, as Margaret explained, as not all was what it seemed. Red disappearing, leaving his wife and child, was the result of an undercover operation gone wrong and with far-reaching ramifications. Red would never have left Carla and Jennifer, and he would never have abandoned his Naval career if he had not discovered the deep injustices that he threatened to expose. Others in power would rather have killed Red than allow the information he had to come to light. That series of events led them, ultimately, to where they were today, Margaret explained. 

Always under threat, and eventually with massive, far-reaching influence and power himself, Red had begun a plan to take down those who threatened him, the United States and the world through an elimination program of sorts, using the FBI, the same organization that wanted him locked up in a hole somewhere, quieted forever. 

“Though you may not fully understand, Elizabeth, your part in this story began long before Red turned himself in to you and is intertwined and integral to the larger plan. Your safety has been his primary life’s work since you were a young child. He surrendered to the FBI sooner than he planned because of the situation with you and your former husband, who posed a threat to your safety,” Margaret explained. “The elimination program was going well despite the change in timeline, but when a more personal relationship developed between you and Raymond certain protocols were put into place. When you became pregnant, those protocols were modified.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Liz asked. “What protocols?”

“I received a phone call from Raymond. I believe it was very soon after he discovered you were pregnant. He asked if I would be willing to assume full care and responsibility for your child should something occur that prevented either of you from caring for him. I said ‘yes.’ Bank accounts were set up, birth certificates and social security numbers were created for both a boy and a girl. Passports just needed photos added to be usable. Those documents were put into a safety deposit box. Other measures were taken to ensure the identity of the child would be unknown, untraceable to either you or Raymond,” Margaret continued. 

“Why would he do that?”

“Raymond was thorough, Elizabeth. As long as I have known him, he has meticulously planned for any potentiality, thought out every possible scenario. I do not think he believed anything would happen to you or to him, but in the event that something did, he wanted the child secured.”

“But, why you?”

“John and I were not all that we seemed either. We worked many deals with Raymond on, what I guess you would call, the wrong side of the law. He trusted us implicitly, and we trusted him. I may not look it now, but I am lethal with any type of firearm. I will shoot first and ask questions later. I have a team of people at my disposal that will do the same. I am as good with a knife in a pinch. I am an excellent thief and a very convincing liar. I am quite intelligent, which comes in handy, when I have to out think someone, which, sadly, isn’t as often as you might expect,” Margaret said, shaking her head. 

“Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed any of that,” Liz said.

“Yes. No one would. That is part of why this works. The other part, the key part, though, is that Raymond always thought I was a wonderful mother. John and I had one child, Natalie. She is a successful art dealer in England now. Not married, no children. But, the point is, when she came along, we were older, and I worked less so I could enjoy raising her. I loved it. She was a lovely child. It was great fun. I think more than anything that is how Raymond saw me – as a mother. I have to assume that is why he called me for this. He knew I could protect Sammy, but that I could love him, too.”

It took several days of conversations for Liz to fully understand why Margaret was asked to care for Sammy and how she did it. Her questions about Margaret’s past were extensive. Margaret’s connection to Red was covered as well, but she came to understand that Margaret’s knowledge of Liz’s connection to Red was limited. She asked Margaret everything she could think of about Sammy also – his likes, his dislikes, his fears, what made him laugh. When did he learn to walk? What was his first word? What did he know about her and Red?

She found out Margaret and Sammy had divided their time between Dublin and Aruba. The child’s last name was currently Cleary, just to simplify matters, and he was a citizen of both Ireland and the United States. This trip was his first return to the U.S. since leaving soon after he was born. Margaret introduced him as her grandson. The story worked well enough. He only knew that his parents’ names were Elizabeth and Raymond. Because of his young age, many questions had yet to come up. 

By the middle of that first week, Liz had to begin asking the harder questions – why, when Liz had been alive and capable of caring for her own child, did all this happen, and how did it happen. With patience and as much thoroughness as she could, Margaret answered those tough questions. Sometimes they talked over tea, sometimes wine, sometimes scotch. Sometimes it was during nap time, or at the park while Sammy played or in the evening in pajamas sitting on the sofa. It was exhausting and emotionally draining, but Liz remained resolute. She needed to understand why she had been made to lose three years of her son’s life. 

Margaret did not know the particulars of the shooting and explosion that resulted in Liz being left unconscious and the early delivery of the baby. She received a phone call the night Sammy was born, notifying her that the protocol was activated. She was needed to care for the baby, a premature newborn. She was told a time and a place to come and pick him up. She did know it was Red’s people who intercepted a 911 call about a woman needing an ambulance at an airplane hangar on the outskirts of town. It was also Red’s people who picked Liz up in that ambulance and delivered the baby. Margaret knew this because she met the labor and delivery team that had been vetted and hired by Red when she went to pick up Sammy two days later. They informed Margaret that Liz was alive, but that her ultimate survival was uncertain. Every care was to be taken for the safety and well-being of the child while Liz was allowed to recover. One of those nurses stayed with Margaret to help care for Sammy for two months. 

Margaret also knew that Red and Dembe were missing. Red’s team was all over the hangar and other locations where they suspected the two could have been taken, but there was no sign of them. Margaret also knew that the team began a search for Red and Dembe immediately. And, three years later, she had still not heard of any success.

“I woke up two weeks after Sammy was born. Why did you not find me? Why didn’t someone bring him to me? What reason could have been good enough to keep him from me all this time, Margaret? Everyone let me believe my baby had died!” Liz could feel a panic attack threatening. Her throat was tight, and she could barely breathe. Her chest began to burn. She began the calming techniques Mona had taught her, but they weren’t working. Margaret got her some water.

“We were informed that you had woken up, but that there was a problem, a big problem. You were being watched by the Pilot’s people and others, those looking for Red. You had been seen as someone important to him, and more than that, there was a child – a bargaining chip more powerful than any other. Through channels, it was learned that there was a plan by at least two organizations to take you and the baby. That could have meant a number of very unconscionable things. By making everyone believe the baby had died at birth, the threat to him was eliminated. If he was returned to you, that threat would become real again.”

“But, why let me think he had died?”

“From my understanding, that was not the original plan. There was no easy access to you once you woke from the coma. And, soon you were hospitalized for the better part of a year. As cruel and inhuman as it sounds, you being institutionalized and believing Sammy and Red gone saved your life. No one could get to you. They watched and waited, though, expecting Red to return to you. The organizations were biding their time, because they believed you would deliver what they wanted in the end. They are relentless in their pursuits, Elizabeth.”

“Why not take me, too, in the beginning and let them think I was dead? Don’t you think that would have been preferable to me? And, better for my child? Why didn’t Red’s people take me, too, instead of leaving me to grieve and lose my sanity?” Liz kept trying to control her breathing. The struggle caused her to break into a sweat. 

“Your injuries were too great, my dear. You were very close to death. Do you understand how close you were to losing your life in those two weeks after Sammy was born? No one anticipated that, and it was for that reason you were left in the hospital. It was your best chance for survival. When you woke, the threats were known, they were close, and they were very real. We would not expose you or Sammy to them. That was against every protocol we had. Our objectives were to keep you both safe, even if that meant keeping you apart.”

“Why would I matter or Sammy if Red were dead? What value do we have if he is gone?” Liz wondered aloud. “The police, the FBI, they all believe Red is dead. That he lost too much blood to have survived his gunshot wound. A wound I saw him get. I saw him get shot in the chest and go down. He has not contacted me in three years, neither has Dembe or Mr.Kaplan. No one has, and you want me to believe that all of this time I have been watched so closely that my own child could not be returned to me without risking our lives?”

“That is what I am saying. Yes.”

“Then I can only conclude that Red is not dead,” Liz said, her throat dry and scratchy, her hands sweaty.

“I would not count him out, Elizabeth.”

“Why did you come now? What has changed?” Liz asked, as she took a sip of water, trying to calm the anxiety ratcheting up. 

“I am not sure exactly. I was told to come and to explain what I could to you. I can only believe that the threats to your life and to Sammy’s have been eliminated,” Margaret said with certainty.

“By whom?” Liz shook, as she asked the question she most needed answered.

“My guess? By Raymond.”

“You think he is alive,” Liz said.

“I do.” 

Liz dropped the glass of water, sending shards of glass all over her bare feet. 

“Well, where is he?” Liz asked.

“I don’t know,” Margaret answered, even though she knew the question wasn’t necessarily directed toward her. “Elizabeth, listen to me carefully, please.”

Liz turned toward her, her eyes wild and her face pale. 

“In a few days, I will leave you,” Margaret said. “You and Sammy will be lovely together. I love him, and I ask you keep me informed about his life. But, he needs you now. Move forward with him, Elizabeth. You have him back. You are both safe, or I would not be here. If Raymond is alive, I believe he is safe now, too. And, if he can, I believe he will return to you. You are his life’s work, my dear. And, I can’t believe he wouldn’t come home to you as soon as he can. Do you trust him?”

Liz felt numb and as if she were in a dream. All she could do was nod. 

“Good. Now, don’t move. Let me get this glass away before you cut your feet.”

When Margaret left, Liz and Sammy settled into a routine. They learned about each other, growing together a little more every day. They played games in the backyard and put up a tent by the big tree where they would use flashlights at night and tell stories. They bought new toys, went to the park, read books, and, most nights, fell asleep next to one another in Liz’s “big bed.” Sammy liked her “big bed” better than his, and she never had the heart to send him away. She loved him in an earth-shattering, all-encompassing, overwhelming way and was grateful every day for the gift he was. She was blissfully happy. There was only one thing missing, and she did not know whether it would be missing forever or it might return any minute. And, that weighed on her. Was Red alive? And, if he was, would he come back?

Near the end of her maternity leave, after being home with Sammy for about two and a half months, Liz was finalizing paperwork for Sammy’s new preschool on her laptop while he raced cars around a track on the floor. In two weeks she would have to return to work, and Sammy would go to preschool. They had celebrated Thanksgiving and Christmas together, visited family, made friends in the neighborhood and developed a life together. She was excited for him to make friends at school, get a new routine and begin a new phase. She was clicking away on the keyboard, when Sammy knocked one of his cars to the front of the room. He scrambled on his knees to get it. When he stood up, he looked out of the window.

“My daddy’s here,” he said


	5. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Red returns to Lizzie.

Liz shot up from the sofa, knocking her laptop onto the floor. Stepping over it, she walked up to the window and stood behind Sammy, her heart in her throat. Could it really be?

Through the sheer curtain she saw a gray sedan parked at the curb, but there was no one near it or on the porch or lawn. She took a shaky breath and reached down picking Sammy up. “What did you see, baby?” she asked, her arms and legs quivering with adrenalin.

“I saw my daddy. He was by the car,” Sammy said, nodding his head, running his race car up and down her arm. With Sammy at her hip, she moved to the front door. “I don’t see anyone,” she said. “Maybe it was a visitor for another house, but we’ll check, okay?” It was a Saturday morning, and the two were still in their pajamas. Liz’s hair was thrown into a messy ponytail, and she wore a white V-necked t-shirt and pink plaid flannel pants. Sammy had on his favorite race car pajamas. They had been lazy this morning, with no plans but going to the park later and, maybe, the grocery store for a few things. 

Just as she was about to open the front door, she heard the squeak of the backdoor handle and the rushing-wind sound that always accompanied that door’s opening – one of the house’s many ticks. She turned away from the front door toward the sound, and before she could do much more, there he stood. In dark blue jeans and a tan sweater with longer hair and glasses, he stood in the middle of her kitchen surrounded by the domesticity of breakfast dishes and leftover orange slices and building blocks strewn across the floor. Unreal, a figment, a dream long dreamed, and she dared not move, believing one breath would make it disappear. He remained silent, staring at her from across the span of the kitchen and living room. 

Finally, Sammy touched her cheek, “Mommy, why won’t you talk?”

She pried her eyes away from Red to look at her son. She felt depleted and weak-kneed, as if she might faint, and shaking her head, she whispered, “I don’t know what to say.” 

He kept his hand on her cheek and whispered back, “Just say ‘hi.’”

She laughed weakly, even as the tears began to pool in her eyes, and hugged him tightly to her, her one real thing. And, if she looked up again, and Red had disappeared, she held proof in her hands of the existence of her child. She closed her eyes. Mona had talked to her many times about the dangers of her breaks from reality. She told Liz to breathe through the confusion, and to use her senses, primarily the sense of touch to help guide her to the present and the truth. Her other senses had proved deceptive – she could pull up the image, taste, sound and smell of Red too easily to distinguish between reality and fantasy. 

She felt her knees begin to buckle and backed against the closest wall. She slowly slid down, hanging on to Sammy, until she was seated on the floor. At her first movement, Red quickly crossed the room, catching up to her just as her eyes slipped closed. 

She woke up on the sofa nearly five minutes later to the sound of Red’s voice. “Lizzie. Lizzie, wake up. Elizabeth, come on now.” He was leaning over her when she opened her eyes. She sucked in a deep breath. He was still here. He smelled the same even if he looked slightly different. And, he sounded the same. “Red, are you really here?”

“Yes, Lizzie, I am really here,” he said, looking at her with a great deal of concern. 

“Mommy?”

Liz turned her head to see Sammy standing next to Red, his face tear-stained. “Oh, Sammy, honey, I’m okay. Come sit by me,” she said as she slowly sat up. She put her arm around him after he climbed on the sofa next to her and kissed his forehead. “I am fine, now. Okay? He nodded slowly, nervous to leave his spot by her side. 

Red sat opposite them on the edge of the coffee table, watching the exchange between mother and son. She had been denied this relationship for so long, had missed so many small discoveries and milestones with her child – he had denied her of them, and for that, he would never forgive himself. It was enough to keep him away for good. It would have been the best thing for everyone concerned. He knew that, believed it to be absolutely true, and yet here he was, nearly speechless in her presence and in awe of a child whose name he had just learned – his child, a son. 

The boy finally looked up at him, his hand on his mother’s leg, protective, and said, “You don’t look the same as your pictures.” He sounded just like Jennifer had at that age; he had trouble pronouncing his “R’s”, too. 

Red cleared his throat, “No? Well, I have been away a very long time. But, I am very happy to finally meet you, Sammy. I am Raymond Reddington, your father.”

Sammy smiled a little then: “I know.” He looked back at his mother and smiled bigger. Red looked at her, too. It was hard not to. He would like days to just sit and stare at her face and get reacquainted with all of her expressions, the movement of her muscles, the line of her brow and brightness of her eyes. But, right now, she looked deathly pale, and he stood to go get her a glass of water, nearly tripping over the laptop on the floor halfway under the sofa. He leaned down to pick it up and as he moved back up he noticed a long scar on Liz’s left calf, where her pant leg had pulled up. There were so many things that needed to be discussed, worked out and explained, and he wanted to do all of that, whatever the consequences, but, first, he wanted to absorb some of this life he had walked in on – the life of his son and his son’s mother, the woman he loved. He needed some of that to take with him, because he doubted he would be welcome to stay once she heard him out. 

Sammy followed Red into the kitchen, proudly showing him where the glasses were kept, and then followed him back to Liz, who still sat on the sofa. She slowly drank the water, and finally believing his mother to be okay, Sammy resumed playing with his race cars.

With Sammy happy and out of ear shot, Red took a seat opposite Liz. Again, he was perched on the coffee table, close but not too close to her. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, intent. “Lizzie, I know we have so much to talk about. I am …”

She cut him off, “Red, I thought you were dead. For over three years I thought you and Sammy were dead. For a lot of that time, I was not well. I am still not sure if some of what I am experiencing right now is real. The reasons for Sammy being kept from me have been explained. They are hard to accept, all of it is very hard to accept, but I am trying. Now, I need you to explain to me what happened, all of it. I need to know where you have been for all of this time, and why you felt I should be kept in the dark as to the existence of my child and of you, you son of a bitch.”

The more she said the angrier she got. Color flamed in her cheeks and her eyes shone brilliantly, and Red couldn’t have been more pleased. He expected nothing less than her outrage. Lizzie on the attack, vicious and deadly, was a Lizzie he knew, understood and craved. The Lizzie very recently described to him by Ressler was something entirely different and foreign. 

“I will explain everything to you. I will hold nothing back from you, Lizzie, now or ever again. But, Lizzie, can we have today? I would very much like to get to know Sammy a little bit, talk to him and spend time with him. Can we spend the day together? Doing whatever it is you do. I’d like to be a part of that. And, tonight, we will talk for as long as it takes,” Red waited for her answer, hands clasped, anxious and uncertain.

She stared at his face, as handsome as ever. He looked unscathed and healthy, maybe younger looking than she had ever seen him. He seemed slightly nervous but still, somehow, strong and peaceful. He was as commanding and compelling as ever. He was the same but different, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.

Her response to the entire situation surprised and unnerved her. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She had dreamed of him for years, yearned for him, spiraled into a depression so deep she was still fighting her way out for want of him, and now here he was, literally her dream come true. And, instead of falling into his arms and crying tears of joy, she found herself wanting to claw his eyes out, to slap and punch the truth out of him, to hurl painful words at him, to draw blood. She didn’t fully understand her reaction, but it was overwhelming, and the only thing that helped contain her was Sammy, playing innocently in the corner of the room. 

“Okay, Red. We will do this your way – for now. But, tonight? Tonight will be my way. Do you understand?” she said, seething.

“Yes. Thank you, Lizzie,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Thank you.”

She stood up from the sofa, putting her directly in front of him, her thighs very nearly touching his knees. Still lightheaded, she swayed, and he reached out to steady her. But before he could touch her, she stopped him, putting her hands in front of her, palms toward him. “No. I got it.” She used the arm of the sofa for balance until she felt ready to walk on her own. 

She moved slowly toward Sammy. Her words turned soft and kind then as she encouraged him to pick up his cars and head to his bedroom, so he could get dressed. They were going to the park. 

The rest of the day proceeded as it would have without Red’s return. They went to the neighborhood park, where Sammy proceeded to slide and swing and climb on every imaginable surface. Then they went for a late lunch at a favorite diner, concluding the meal with ice cream sundaes all around. A stop at a bookstore ended with three new books and a stuffed dinosaur. Next was the grocery store for just a few things, and finally, home for a small dinner, a bath, some reading and an early bedtime. 

It had been a good day, but an exhausting one. Red had gotten to interact with his son, and the child had warmed to him quickly. There had been laughter and lots of chatter between the two; they already seemed like old friends, sharing a love of sticks and rocks, whipped cream and dinosaur books. Liz had been distant, quiet, trying to take it all in. She was still processing the surreal event of Red’s return and continually running through her mind the possibilities of where he had been and what he had been doing, while steeling herself for the conversation to come.

After washing up that night, Red went in search of her. He found her lying on her bed, her faced washed and her pajamas on. At first, he thought she was asleep. She was lying on her side with her hands under her head resting on a pillow. As he got closer, he realized she was neither asleep nor alone. Sammy was curled up next to her, sleeping soundly, and she was watching him. The contentment and adoration he saw on her face clenched at his heart. He needed to see this; it helped make it all worth it. No matter how she felt about him in the end, he knew why he did what he did. The success of his activities and the decisions he had made lay right in front of him. 

She heard him and looked up as he approached the bed. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the bed. She nodded warily. 

Red lay down on the other side of Sammy, still wearing his jeans, sweater, and socks but no shoes. He propped his head on his arm and stared down at his son. “Lizzie, he is amazing,” he said. “He is so carefree and full of joy. I had a great time with him today. Thank you for helping make it so easy to get to know him.”

“I can’t take credit for very much when it comes to him yet. You have Margaret to thank for the well-adjusted, sweet boy he is. I think you know that,” she said, quietly.

He looked at her lying so sweetly on her pillow, hurt and disliking him for she knew not what exactly. It was time he told her, as much as he was loathe to move away from the comfort of the bed they had shared on so many nights before everything stopped. 

“Shall we talk now, Lizzie? He seems settled,” Red said, running his hand over Sammy’s soft hair and placing a kiss on the crown of his head.

“Yes. Let’s go into the living room,” she said, moving carefully off the bed. 

After making coffee, they settled in on opposite ends of the sofa, and she did not delay. Liz told Red all she had learned from Margaret, saving him the trouble. “Now, Red, I want to know what happened to you. Where have you been?” she asked.

As promised, he let her lead the night, and so began his story: “When Dembe and I got to the hangar that night, everything went according to plan. We had met our contact, discussed our course of action and were making our way out, when the Pilot and a number of his lackeys showed up. We were outmanned, and it got ugly. I was shot, nearly fatally. I passed out soon after the shot. I woke up several days later in some disgusting make-shift hospital in Colombia of all places,” Red shook his head, the memory making him grimace.

“And, Dembe?” Liz asked.

“I didn’t know for a while, but, yes, he was there, too,” he confirmed. 

Liz smiled, genuinely, “Okay. Please continue.”

“I was in bad shape, recovery was slow. The Pilot thought he had us where he wanted us, and truly, he did for quite a while. When I was well enough, he began a program of interrogation and intimidation. He was the one who told me you were at the hangar that night, that you had rushed in and were hurt badly. At first I didn’t believe him, but he had too many details – what you were wearing that night, your pregnancy, how you had behaved toward me in the moments before the explosion. Until he told me, I didn’t even know there had been an explosion. He said he even called an ambulance for you himself - a fatal mistake, by the way – during the removal of the bodies.

“He explained to me, ad nauseam, how he wanted you to live, so he could use you to break me. He gave me daily updates of your condition, which he assured me was one of continual decline. He told me of the death of our child, your coma, your commitment to the psychiatric facility. His intent was to drive me mad, mad enough to tell him all of my secrets – who my contacts were, all of my business dealings – so he could profit from my gigantic mistake of trying to put him out of business. At the end of the day, he would kill me and be the richer for it. His plan was a good one. A lot of it worked as he had hoped. I was a raging lunatic most of the time,” Red paused for a moment and took a sip of his coffee. Liz didn’t say a word. She was horrified.

He continued: “For months it continued like that. Conditions were poor. I lived in some shack on the edge of the jungle and was fed meager meals, questioned daily, and left just this side of dead. I would give the Pilot or his lackeys enough information to keep them going but never enough to fully satisfy them. It pissed him off. Then, he would threaten you. He threatened to take you, torture you, rape you. He kept tabs on you. He told me others were watching you, too. Others out there wondered where I was; the Pilot assured them that the best way to locate me was through you. He wanted me to know that harm could come to you from a variety of sources.”

“After about nine months, I was able to convince the young boy would brought me my meals to give Dembe a message for me. I had learned Dembe was there several months before; he was also being questioned and tortured in a much more vicious way than I was being. The boy delivered Dembe’s food, too. Over time that young boy saved us. With my direction and through a series of complicated maneuvers, he was able to set Dembe free. The plan was for Dembe to get out as quickly as possible, leaving me behind for the time being. He would get our group together, and come back ready to eliminate the problem. If I had tried to leave with him, the two of us would have been dead before we got out of that jungle.

“The plan worked, but it took time. Dembe and an arsenal of my people showed up in Colombia two months later. They got me out and killed every one of those bastards, except for the Pilot. He was mine to deal with, and I wanted him to suffer for what he had done. I made a mistake, though, Lizzie. I was physically weak and let my need for revenge ruin my chances. He overtook me, and he knew the jungle well. It took us a long time to find him again. It was painstaking and miserable. But, while we hunted him, we continued to eliminate those who worked for his network, those who were watching you to find me. Over time, a lot of time, we were successful. The threats to your life and to Sammy’s are gone.”

Lizzie spoke, finally, “The Pilot?”

“Eliminated four months ago,” Red explained. “All of those blacklisters that we were working to take down before the baby came? They are all gone now. You are safe, Lizzie. And, so is Sammy. That is all I want.”

“But what about you, Red? Are you safe?” she asked, hesitantly. 

“I would never compromise you, Lizzie. There is no immediate threat to me. I live, however, with the knowledge that there are those in your government who want me dead. Because I know things they don’t want known, and I have proof of those things. That proof is my security, Lizzie, and as long as I have that I should be fine. When the day comes that the information I have needs to come to light, then there will be a reckoning. I am a patient man.”

“If the Pilot was killed four months ago, why did Sammy only come to me two and a half months ago?” she asked, needing to fully understand.

Throughout his accounting of events, Red had shown little emotion, but now, he paused, putting down his coffee cup. It took him time to look her in the eyes. “I didn’t know he had survived, Lizzie. Once Dembe returned to free me, I asked him one question - if you were alive. After he answered that you were, I told him and everyone else, in no uncertain terms, that they were to make sure you stayed that way, and we would speak no more about it. For a year’s time, I had been tormented with stories of you. I did not know what was true anymore. But, if you were alive, then, whatever the condition, I could do what needed to be done in order to protect you.”

“Your life’s work,” she mumbled to herself. 

“What?” he said, confused.

“Margaret said that I was your life’s work. That keeping me safe was your life’s work,” she explained, somewhat dazed by the amount and intensity of the information he had imparted.

“Maggie was right. But, Lizzie, I had failed to ask about the baby. I had believed that bastard. Of all the things he had told me, so many of them lies or half-truths, that one I didn’t question. My protocol had worked so well that it had deceived even me. But, eventually it was the voice recording of his intercepted 911 call that led some of my people to narrow in on his location through voice recognition software or something or other. 

“Lizzie, when I finally learned of Sammy’s existence, I made every effort to get him to you quickly. You have to believe that I never intended to keep him from you any longer than absolutely necessary. Though a number of people in my organization knew of his existence, many others didn’t. The protocols are need to know,” he said, knowing he was not fully giving her what she wanted. 

“But, Red, did you not ask to be informed of everything once the Pilot was killed, and you knew I was safe? Not only did you not ask about the baby, but did you not ask about me? Four months have passed. What took you so long?” 

“When I learned that Sammy had lived, I was stunned. I felt a lot of things, Lizzie, but mostly guilt. I did not ask if the baby was a boy or a girl. I did not ask the child’s name. I just made sure Margaret was notified and told to return the baby to you as quickly as possible. She didn’t know that directive came from me,” he explained, despair on his face. “I am so sorry, Lizzie.”

“Red, why didn’t you return sooner?” she asked, afraid she knew the answer. 

“I wasn’t sure it was in your best interest or the child’s. You were safe and deserving of a carefree existence. I can never fully provide that. Though I regret so much of what happened, I do not for a second regret the steps taken to keep you both safe. You are alive, healthy and together, and you seem quite content, two peas in a pod,” he said, smiling gently at her. 

“You speak as if you aren’t staying. You speak as if you weren’t going to come at all,” she said, growing more concerned with each passing second. “What made you come here today?”

“Ressler, of all people, found me a few weeks ago. Well, found might be a stretch. Apparently, during your absence the FBI decided to resurrect their search for me. The return of Sammy led them to believe I might also be alive. I heard they were looking for me. When I knew Ressler was getting close, I reached out to him and had him come visit me.”

“Where?” she asked. 

“At my house in the Bahamas,” he said.

“How nice," she said, sarcastically. "What did Ressler say?”

“I told him the story I told you. And, he told me about you.”

“What did he say?” she repeated.

“Lizzie, he told me everything. All that you had survived. The ongoing struggles you have. And, I was frightened by his account of things. I couldn’t not come to you. I know it is better for you to move on, to find peace, but I needed to see you for myself. And, now I have. And, you are strong, Lizzie, a survivor. You are resilient and as loving and nurturing as I imagined you would be. You are a wonderful mother. And most of all, you are unbroken,” he talked, until she slid closer to him on the sofa. Then he stopped, overwhelmed by her close proximity. He could smell her and feel the warmth radiating from her. 

When she spoke again she did so quietly: “Before Margaret left she asked me if I trusted you. I told her ‘yes.’ I thought you were dead then, but she didn’t. I have been through a lot, yes, and so have you – unthinkable, unbearable things, and yet, here we are. I have more I need to ask you, but not tonight. Right now, I need your help. Will you help me, Red?”

“Of course, Lizzie. What do you need?” She scooted even closer to him.

“I need you to touch me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be one more chapter after this one. Thank you for reading!


	6. Recovered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all who have read this story. It is close to my heart, and I have so enjoyed sharing it here. A short epilogue may follow very soon.

Chapter 6

“Lizzie,” his voice was husky and a bit shaky. His tone suggested he might reject her, and that was something she could not handle.

“Touch me, Red. I need to know you are really here. Touch me,” she pleaded quietly, insistently. She was as close to him as she could be without brushing against him.

He swallowed. She was wearing him down. She could see the conflict in his eyes, but he was still hesitant. She thought she understood. And, she wanted to help him, so he could help her.

“Red, how did I get to the sofa earlier, after I fainted?” she asked, searching his face, so close to hers.

“I carried you,” he said, his voice increasingly deep.

“Yes. You have had the pleasure of feeling me against you, of knowing I am real. Do not deny me that same pleasure. I need to know you are real. If I can feel you, I will know,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his. 

He closed his eyes. “Lizzie,” he whispered her name like a prayer, “If I touch you again, I will never be able to leave. And, I should leave, Lizzie. You said you trust me. Trust that. You should want me to leave,” he admitted. She shook her head slightly, but he couldn’t see her. 

“Red, open your eyes,” she demanded. After a breath he did, and she continued: “I don’t want you to leave. I don’t ever want you to leave. Now, please, touch me.”

So, he did. He took a deep breath and gently slid his right hand along her cheek and into her hair, leaving the palm of his hand against her neck. She moved forward the last little bit that allowed her to press her forehead against his. Soon he placed his left hand into her hair as well. She moved her hands slowly down his chest, reveling in the feel of him, both familiar and foreign. When she reached his waist, she put her arms around him fully and pulled him to her. Soon, he moved his hands from her hair, gently smoothing it as he went. He ran his hands down her back, kneading her soft skin as he did, just the way he remembered she liked, and when he got to her waist, he carefully maneuvering her onto his lap. 

Then, he held her tightly. Liz had handfuls of his sweater, and she held him right back. She moved her face into his neck, inhaling deeply and resting her lips against him. She felt him shiver slightly. She tightened her grip and finally spoke, her lips tickling the skin of his neck, “I don’t ever want you to leave me. Don’t ever leave me. I’m sorry for how I behaved toward you today. Red, to have you here, to see you and hear you and smell you, I have felt like I was dreaming my favorite dream all day. But, to touch you, to feel your heart beating against me right now, I have to believe you are here, that this is really happening.” She pulled back then and cradled his face with her hands. “This is real. You are alive,” she looked at him with awe and love. 

He smiled lovingly at her then and said quietly, “Sweetheart, I am very much alive. And it was the thought of you, of one day making you safe from all the evil out there, that has kept me that way.”

“For more than three years I have wanted you back so desperately. I longed for you, Red. And, I couldn’t move on. I wouldn’t. A part of me couldn’t accept that you were gone. The fact that you are here is so amazing and overwhelming and wonderful. But, I don’t want you alive just to keep me safe. I want you alive so you can love me,” she said, moving closer and placing her lips gently on his. She kissed him tentatively at first, gently, coaxingly, again and again and again, until he lost all of the restraint he had walked through the door with that morning. He laid her back on the sofa, and her mouth opened to his, inviting him in. And, he kissed her with all the passion he had kept in check for so long. She welcomed him, his weight comforting on top of her, and met his passion with her own, so long repressed that when it rushed to the surface so swiftly and overwhelmingly, she had to keep herself from crying out. 

She pushed his sweater up and over his head, quickly moving to unbutton his shirt. Red kissed her jawline, her neck, her chest, pushing down her t-shirt, so he could reach her breasts, where he rested his head momentarily, inhaling. Liz opened his shirt to reveal a t-shirt. She huffed, frustrated, “Too many shirts.”

Red stopped then and sat back, chuckling slightly. “Let me help us,” he said, quickly pulling off his open button-down shirt and his t-shirt. She watched him until he was finished and shirtless. She took a moment to stare at him before pulling off her own shirt and bra. His gaze dwelled on her breasts, even as she lifted her hips and stripped herself of her pajama pants and underwear, her heart hammering in her chest and her anticipation growing. Once begun, this journey of rediscovery she was on couldn’t be slowed.

She reached for his belt as he remained straddled above her. Her shaking hands were a hindrance to her progress, but she worked as quickly as she could. He watched her from above with such adoration as she undressed him that his desperation, having been equal to hers, eased slightly, allowing him to savor her when she finally pushed his pants and boxer briefs as far down his legs as she could without his help. He momentarily lifted himself off of her completely to remove his clothes. 

When he moved back to her, he kissed her deeply, slowly and thoroughly, unable to wait any longer to tell her what he hadn’t been able to in so long. When he pulled away from her mouth, he looked into her eyes and moved a hand over her heart. “Lizzie, I love you. I have missed you so, so much, my beautiful, amazing girl,” he said, quietly, shaking his head a bit. “I had hoped and waited for you, but I never thought you would accept me again.”

“I accept you, Red,” she said, placing her hand over his above her heart. “I want you, like I have never wanted anything, now and always. Do you understand? You are my dream come true. And, I love you, too.” She kissed him then, and eased him down onto her, positioning him where she needed him to be, no waiting, no other indulgences. She needed all of him now. He understood and did not deny her. He would never deny her. As they began to move together, the passion and emotions Liz had long quelled again came racing forward. Red held his hand over her mouth on occasion, to stifle her screams, and later he held her as she finally gave in and cried, for all she had lost, all she had mourned and, finally, all she had gained. Her life had been returned to her. 

When finally the couch became too uncomfortable and sleep pulled at them, Red pulled himself up and extended his hand, helping Liz to her feet. They pulled on some of their clothing and walked hand-in-hand to her bedroom, where their son slept. Liz went to pick him up, but Red stopped her. “I’ll do it, sweetheart. Will he wake up when I move him?”

“No. He should be fine. Just put him in his bed, and make sure his bear is next to him on the pillow. He likes that when he wakes up.”

Red nodded and reached down for Sammy. The boy opened his eyes briefly when he was being lifted to where he would rest against Red’s chest. “Daddy,” he mumbled before his eyes closed again. Red and Liz both stopped; Sammy hadn’t called him that all day, instead calling him “Red” like Liz did. 

Tears gathered in Red’s eyes, stinging the corners and making his nose burn. He finally looked up at Liz, whose reaction was the same as his, except where he tried to remain stoic, she was beaming. “He already loves you, Red. After one day, you have completely won him over. I shouldn’t be surprised. You have that effect on people,” she told him tenderly. “Now put him to bed and come back to me.”

“Yes, dear,” he said, laughing quietly at her, pleased and happy beyond measure. 

When Red returned they talked, lying side by side in the dark of the bedroom they had shared for all of their time together. Even though Red had had safe houses where they would spend time during the two years they were a couple, it was her house and this bedroom that served as their most private, sacred place. It was where secrets had been shared, where Sammy had been conceived, and a future had been plotted. It was also where she had spent so much time alone, but she wasn’t alone now. And, she was determined to keep it that way. 

So, they talked about Sammy. Liz told him all she had learned about him in the last few months and facts from his infancy that Margaret had shared with her. “She gave me some photo albums and a baby book. We can look at those later. He was a beautiful, plumb little baby with a lot of dark hair. His eyes were blue for a long time before changing to the hazel they are now. He started talking early, likes to tell elaborate stories,” she reached out and ran her hand down his chest, smiling at him from her pillow, “I wonder who he got that from?” 

“Well, today, I quickly learned of his tenacity and problem-solving skills. That, I would say, is all you, my dear,” he said, catching her hand as it wandered over his chest. “He has your hair, and his eyes are shaped just like yours.”

She nodded. “Yes, but that chin and nose? All you.”

“Well, I find the combination sheer perfection. We have done very well together, Lizzie,” he said, knitting their fingers together.  
She lifted herself then, propping her head in her hand, elbow on her pillow, so she could better look at him, her hand clasped in his on his chest. She stayed silent for a moment searching his face for a sign of his intentions. As much as she wanted to forget everything and move on top of him to make love with him again, she needed to understand his plans. 

The change in her demeanor was pronounced, and it silenced him. He watched her and waited. It was still her night, and he had promised to answer any question, to fulfill any need on her part. Her expression worried him, but he was at her mercy. Finally, she spoke: “Red, you came here with no intention of staying. I suppose I understand why. Your need to protect me and Sammy is paramount. But, you said the threats to us are gone. So, are you really willing to give us up, because of the possibility that our government will harm us? I see that as a remote possibility, not a likely one. Is there something else?”

“Lizzie, when I met with Donald, we also conferenced with Cooper. We spent days working out my immunity deal. It is secure now. It is in place. I will never be arrested for the deeds of Raymond Reddington, the Concierge of Crime. My work over the last two years, after getting out from under that bastard, the Pilot, helped make that deal happen. We eliminated so many of the government’s most wanted while we continued our hunt for the Pilot that the biggest threats to national security are gone. They had no choice but to grant my immunity,” he explained.

He took a deep breath then and looked at her carefully, imploring her to understand. “My decision to not come to you was wrong. I will never be completely secure, like I have told you. There are those in the government that will always want me gone, but I do have the support of the FBI and at least some of the CIA. It is more than I have ever had. My decision was based primarily on the fact that I believed you deserved a fresh start. A pure and untainted life, in which our child could grow up always safe and happy. And, I thought maybe you would move on, or had moved on, and would find love with someone younger, full of energy and life. Everything is ahead of you, Lizzie, every good thing. And, I want you to have it all.”

“But, you said you were wrong,” she pressed him. 

“Yes, I was wrong to make the decision for you. To let you continue to believe I had died was cruel and unforgivable. To not have known, or even asked, if I had been misled when it came to the life of our child,” he stopped and looked away from her. “That is unforgivable, absolutely.”

“Red, you are right,” she said, causing him to shift his gaze back to her. “Some of what you have done was wrong and cruel even. Your primary concern of safety has led you to make choices that you shouldn’t have, but none of what you have done is unforgivable. No more than me.”

“What do you mean, Lizzie?”

“If I had not gone to that hangar that night, so much of this would not have happened. Sammy would have been fine and with me. I would have been able to care for him. I would not have been in an institution for the better part of a year. If I had done a better job of convincing you to stay home, we all would have been fine,” she explained removing her hand from his to wipe the tears that had slipped quietly from her eyes.

“You should not have spent one second blaming yourself for what happened. It was all my doing. My business, all the criminal activities of decades, ruined our lives, Lizzie. Nothing else. You tried to save me, and that was not possible. No matter whether you came to the hangar that night or not, the outcome to me would have been the same. You endangered yourself coming out there. That is true. You risked yourself and compromised the life of our child. I should be angry with you for that,” he stopped and wiped her tears from her cheeks. “But, Lizzie, how can I be? I would have done the same for you, without question. A thousand times if necessary. Because I love you.”

“And, I love you. There is no younger man for me, no safer path, no purer life. There is only you, and that sweet sleeping boy in the other room. So, if you want me to be happy, then you will stay with me. No matter what. Because, Red, that is what I want, and we both deserve that.”

He moved his arms to encircle her and pull her against him until she lay half on top of him. “If that is what you want, then I will never leave you. Wait, I want to amend that a little bit, because you need to understand how much I want to stay. It was never a question of that, Lizzie. You must understand that it was never about not loving or wanting you. It was the opposite of that.”

She smoothed her hand over his hair. “I know that. I know you. Can I ask you something, though?”

“Of course.”

“Red, what is up with the longer hair?”

“You should have seen me after my time in Colombia, Lizzie. I was a hairy beast, bearded with long hair. I looked insane. But when I finally had the opportunity to cut it all off, I decided not to startle myself with going for too much too soon. Do you not like it?”

She chuckled deeply at his sudden self-consciousness, “Oh, on the contrary. I find it and your glasses very sexy. And, your casual clothes? Also, very sexy. I think your glasses were knocked off somewhere near the end of the sofa near the coffee table, by the way.”

He moved her completely on top of him. “Hmmm. Yes. That is why you are a blurry blob right now. A very delicious blurry blob. Lizzie, I have a question for you now.”

“Okay,” she smiled down at him, wondering what he could really make out without the glasses, plotting her next move, wondering if she could take him by surprise. 

“I would like to know if you and Sammy would join me in the Bahamas?” he asked, with just a hint of anxiety.

She stopped fantasizing and paid attention: “Red, what do you mean, join you? I thought we just established that you weren’t leaving.”

“We did. I am never leaving you and Sammy, but that doesn’t mean we have to stay here. Lizzie, I am a very wealthy man, engaged in only legitimate business now, by the way. I know your maternity leave ends soon. I would like to take you and Sammy on a vacation. Come to the Bahamas. We deserve some time together, as a family. You will both love it there. Also, Dembe is there, and I know he would very much like to see you,” he explained. 

She did not hesitate in her response, “That sounds perfect. Yes, let’s go. As soon as we can. So, why the Bahamas?”

“Well, that is an interesting little story. I wasn’t just basking there, enjoying the sun and surf. For a very long time, Dembe has loved a woman who lives there. After our ordeal I encouraged him to go to her, to stop delaying the inevitable. He has finally asked her to marry him. The wedding is next month. I am beyond pleased for him. We will all attend now, I hope, and, I also very much hope that it is an idea you will entertain soon as well,” he said, moving his hands to cup her face.

She was speechless for a moment, absorbing his words. She felt dumbstruck, “What?”

“Lizzie, I want to marry you, as soon as possible. I have told you now that I am never going to leave you, and I mean for you to never leave me. I take no chances in my dealings, either professionally or personally, you know that. I am nothing if not thorough and absolutely demanding in my commitments,” he kissed her mouth soundly and slowly. “I am asking you if you will marry me, Lizzie.”

She kissed him back, reveling in the taste of him and the feel of his lips moving over hers. He thrilled her, kept her joyful, hopeful and so alive. She felt she might burst from the reality of him. It was so much in one day, so very many good things that she had to keep her mouth on him and her hands. Here was proof of life, happiness and recovery. Finally and truly. 

She said, “Yes.”


End file.
